The Cartoon Witches
by Iscreamer1
Summary: One shot parody chapter based on Roald Dahl's "The Witches". The rest of the story is up for sale or you can try doing your own version that picks up from the chapter.


**This is my attempt at doing a parody based on Roald Dahl's The Witches, much of the story is taken from the book, with many elements from the film adaptation directed by Nicholas Roeg.**

**Summary: When a Viking teen named Hiccup accidently stumbles into the secret world of witches and warlocks led by Coco LaBouche (Maleficent in disguise), he finds they are a lot more than what he imagined, especially since they've turned him into a Night Fury.**

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Hello to all, my name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. As you all know things have happened to me that will probably make you scream when you read about them. That can't be helped. The truth must be told. The fact that I am still here and able to speak to you is due entirely to my wonderful Grandmother Hua Fa.

My grandmother was Chinese, but my mother and father were Norse Vikings. Twice a year at Christmas and in the summer, we went to China to visit her. This old lady, as far as I could gather, was just about the only surviving member of my family. She was my grandmother-in-law on my mom's side of the family and whenever we were together we spoke in either English, Chinese, Greek or Norwegian. It didn't matter which, we were equally fluent in both languages, and I have to admit that I felt closer to her than my parents.

Soon after my seventeenth birthday, we went to China as usual for Christmas with Grandma Fa and it was over there, while my father and mother and I were driving in icy weather just north of Beijing, that our car skidded off the road and went tumbling down a rocky ravine. My parents immediately died of a blunt forced trauma, but thanks to my firmly strapped safety belt in the backseat, I received only a cut to my left foot.

I finished up in the hospital of course. After the accident, I decided not to go back to Berk right away; I was brought into the custody of Grandma Fa. She was starting to enroll me a school in Lanzhou that she picked out for me had anything would happen to my parents (which it did). "Heaven may take my soul, but China shall keep my bones," she said proudly.

The very next day, in order to ease my sadness, Grandma Fa started telling me stories. She was a wonderful storyteller and I was enthralled by everything she told me:

"When your father was a boy like you, and living with me here in China, I told him everything about witches and warlocks, so that he would always be aware that are indeed real. Now, the most important thing you should know about real witches and warlocks is this - now listen very carefully! Real witches and warlocks dress in ordinary clothes, and look very much like ordinary men and women. They live in ordinary houses, and they work in ordinary jobs. Every country in the world has witches and warlocks, and there is a leader: The Grand Master. And the ruler of all the witches and warlocks is the most evil woman in creation: Maleficent, the Grand High Witch Councilwoman, herself."

"Are you being truthful?" I asked.

"You won't last long in this world, if you don't know how to spot a witch or a warlock."

We were in the big kitchen or her house in China and I was ready for bed, the curtains never drawn. My grandmother-in-law was a small woman who always wore a blue dress with a black apron and black shoes. She sat there majestic at the table, lighting up Roman candles. I myself, was 17 years old, sitting on the other end of the dining table, wearing pajamas, bathrobe and slippers.

"Because they are the most resentful outcasts of society, witches and warlocks plan to get their revenge by plotting to kill children. Hunting them you might say."

"Did they hunt you?" I asked.

She showed me an amputated thumb on her right hand.

"You said it was an accident," I said.

"A very unpleasant accident," she replied before continuing with the story. "As I was saying (and please don't interrupt me), for all you know a witch or a warlock may be living next door to you right now. He might be the young man with the bright eyes that opposite on the bus to you this morning. She might be the lady with the dazzling smile that offered you a treat before lunch. One of them might even be lovely school teacher who is reading these words to you at this very moment. When I was little, I lived beside five other children. One of them, named Rerun, had very strict parents, but that didn't save him, because when a witch or warlock choses a victim, there is only one hope of escaping: Knowing everything there is to know about them. You can never be too sure if it's a witch you are looking at or a kind lady. And Rerun was soon taken by a 'tall lady in white gloves'."

"And the other four kids?" I asked.

"One girl named Bridgette was turned into a hen that laid brown eggs." Grandma resumed, "To continue with my facts, real witches and warlocks hate children for two reasons: their sense of smell and the fact that they were cast out of society at that age for their unusual behavior and being called names like 'freak' or 'heretic', they almost feel completely alone in this world."

"I don't see much sense in hating them if they are outcasts," I said to myself.

"Only the dangerous ones" said Grandma, "because real witches and warlocks are quite bored with their lack of progress and are very bald. Of course, they wear wigs which causes scalp rash. In case you don't know, it's the itching under the wig that drives them crazy. They only be distinguished from ordinary women if one were to spot their eyes changing. Their eyes are mostly purple and yellow, but can change color to reflect their emotions and if you look closely in the pupils, you can fire and ice dancing together, perhaps if another child like Ben knew about them, he would have been saved from turning into a granite statue."

"And the fourth?"

"He got turned into a fish when jumping into a pond from fjord on a summer picnic. As a crucial defect, some witches and warlocks have square feet, stumps where the toes should be. Some wear pointed and pretty shoes and some just plain, ordinary, sensible shoes. Number 5, my best friend was a girl named Mei who came home from school eating an apple, claiming she got it from a nice man down the street, the next morning, however, she completely vanished. I was in her house that same day and while Mei's mother was pouring the tea, her father stared to see a figure in his newly purchased oil painting as if it had always been there, it was Mei feeding the ducks, gazing at us."

"You saw her in the painting, Grandma?"

"Many times," my grandmother said. "And the most peculiar thing was that Mei kept changing her position in the picture. One day, she would be inside the farmhouse looking out of the window and the next she would be feeding the ducks."

"Did you see her moving in the picture, Grandma?"

"Nobody did. She was always a figure painted in oils, motionless… As the years went by, she kept growing older in the picture. Then all at once, 54 years after it all happened, she disappeared from the picture altogether."

"You mean she died?" I asked.

"Who knows?" Grandma Fa. "Some very mysterious things go on in the world of witchcraft and wizardry."

The next evening, after I had been given a shower, Grandma Fa took me into her bedroom for a short story.

"Witches and warlocks are very cruel; they spit blue bilberry saliva and wear gloves to hide their point and sharp cat-like fingers. They also have a highly developed sense of smell and could even smell you across the street on a pitch black night."

"They couldn't smell me," I said. "I just had a bath."

"Oh yes they can," Grandma Fa said. "The more cleaner you happen to be, the more smelly you are to a warlock or witch if there is a dirt that he smells."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"To me, you smell of raspberries and cream, but to a witch or a warlock you would be absolutely disgusting."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Feces, leavings, poop, maybe even skunk spray or a corpse."

I reeled. "I don't believe it."

"There's no point in arguing," said Grandma Fa. "It's a fact of life. If you ever see a man or a woman holding his or her nose in the street as he or she passes you by, they could easily be a witch and a warlock. And now it is definitely bedtime."

"Goodnight, Grandma," I said, kissing her on the cheek.

After she left, I didn't move. I just kept looking at the lit candles on my bedside until sleep took me over.


End file.
